e answered with a slight hesitation. "I came here seventeen years ago."

"And do you never go down to the lowlands?"

"No."

"Then I can't have known you before," she said disappointedly, "because
I am only seventeen myself."

A shrewder observer--Jemima for instance--might have noted his
hesitancy, might have realized that coming to a place does not imply
remaining there continuously.

But Jacqueline was not shrewd. She took people literally, and understood
just what they intended her to understand. The art of prevarication was
unknown to her; though, as has been seen, she could lie upon occasion,
with a large and primitive simplicity.

"Now then," said the teacher briskly. "If you are ready, young lady, we
shall go after that bullet."

She shrank away, quivering, all her fine pretense at composure
shattered. "O-oh, but you don't expect _me_ to help you? I can't, I
never can help with things like that! I'm not like mother and Jemmy. I
couldn't bear it. He might groan! I can't stand it when they groan!"

The other frowned. "You are not a coward, I think, afraid of a little
blood?"

"It's not the blood--though I don't like that a bit. It's the pain. It's
when they groan. Please, please!--It's horrible enough when you don't
care for them, but when you do--"

His face softened wonderfully. "Ah!--Yes. It is worse when you care, my
dear; but all the more reason for helping. Come, I have no one else. You
shall keep me from hurting him by holding this little cone over his
face--see, how simple. He will certainly groan, and you will certainly
bear it. Come, then!"

Jacqueline, sick and shivering, stuck to her post. "If Jemmy could only
see me now!" was the thought with which she stiffened herself. She tried
not to listen to the moaning voice--"They're killing me! Take it away.
Oh, _don't_ hurt me any more--"

"You said it wouldn't hurt him!" she muttered once, fiercely.

"And it does not--only his imagination. He has a vivid imagination, this
chap."

"Of course he has!" She scented disrespect, and was quick to resent it.
"He's a very famous author,--Mr. Percival Channing."

"So?" But the school-teacher did not appear to be greatly impressed. "A
healthy-looking author, at least, which is in his favor. This should not
give him any trouble.--Aha! Now we have it."

He held up the bullet for her to see.

"Now then," he added in a moment, "you shall go into my little
guest-room there while I watch over our patie